


(imagine)

by aratayy



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:14:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29892018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aratayy/pseuds/aratayy
Summary: Coulson looks at her expectantly. "Would you, uh, like to clarify the note?"She has nothing to say, except that it was a dumpster fire of a series of events that ensured the piece of paper had ended up in his hands. Jesus fuck, she couldn't say that. "Uh...huh.""Clarify, Skye, means to make a statement or situation less confused, and more clearly-""Oh, God," she mutters, interrupting his recital. "I'm in love with a, adweeb."
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	(imagine)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [caelesalad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caelesalad/gifts).



> High School AU. Not much to explain, really, aside from the fact that Salad knows nothing about agents of shield, so I guess this will be an enlightening experience for you! But it's a dirty old ship and I will go down with it. Hoping it's at least cathartic.

Bammo. She's like, _so_ done with this. She kicks her feet off the table, the movement whisking quite a few important-looking documents to the floor, and stands. She crinkles her nose at the pot of a...green plant next to the door, well on its way to the pearly gates, and wonders at how much it reminds her of its owner. A fancy framed certificate hangs right above that. Probably his MA. God, when was he going to-   
  
The door cracks open carefully. Then he walks in, just as cautious as he's watching her, smiles at her. "Skye."   
  
"Coulson," she replies, and it's become too automatic that she doesn't realize what she's done, what she shouldn't do in the officiality of the man's, well, office. The head of department's office.   
  
His look tells her just as much, but he moves past it, choosing to stand with his hands settled on the chair in front of her. He raises an eyebrow at the scattered paper on the ground and she shrugs half-heartedly.   
  
"I've been waiting."   
  
"I can see that."   
  
She smarts, turns her head away. She glares at the shelves of actual, physical _books_ , and remembers that time Coulson made a whole deal out of flipping through one and acting like the class had never seen a book before. She had been, what, annoyed with him back then? It couldn't have been more than six months ago, but it still felt like a lifetime since then. She's changed.   
  
"Let's-"   
  
"Just ignore the rampaging elephant in the room?" She suggests monotonously. "Or just hand out a couple of detentions? Oh of course, not with you. That would be-" She rolls her eyes. "-improper."   
  
He looks at her. "Let's," he says slowly, "sit down."   
  
They do. Her face is a bit red, but she can blame that on the sunlight spilling in from the window behind him. The silence isn't awkward, per se, but she likes it way more when he talks. He talks so good, it's almost ridiculous.   
  
He clears his throat. "I read...the Thing."   
  
She takes it back. She would prefer the silence. "Uh-huh?" She sounds so dumb, but it's the best she can do.   
  
He looks at her expectantly. "Would you, uh, like to clarify the note?"   
  
She has nothing to say, except that it was a dumpster fire of a series of events that ensured the piece of paper had ended up in his hands. Jesus fuck, she couldn't say that. "Uh...huh."   
  
"Clarify, Skye, means to make a statement or situation less confused, and more clearly-"   
  
"Oh, God," she mutters, interrupting his recital. "I'm in love with a, a _dweeb_."   
  
His look is pained. "You're not in love with me."   
  
"A cynical dweeb," she corrects herself, and crosses her arms tightly. "I thought you read the Thing, with the capital T."   
  
"I did. It doesn't-"   
  
"I'm pretty sure it's entirety is just, _Skye Johnson is in love with her English teacher._ "   
  
He pauses, and she can literally see him ruminating over his words, tasting each possibilities of the sentences in his mind. When he opens his mouth, her lips are dry. From anxiety or the vulnerability, she doesn't know.   
  
"No," he says slowly, and some tide in the silence between their words shifts. She feels it acutely, rippling down her thoughts like a hurricane. She's stuck, she's gone, she's-   
  
" _Coulson, the edges of me are still broken, and I am not sure if time will fix that. But I want to know where your spirit meets the bones, I want to count all the ways that I love you, and I want to do everything your stupid poems talk of love. This can be our golden room, our silent night, our return to Florence._ "   
  
He stops, and she recognizes that look. It's resignation. "You memorized it," she murmurs.   
  
"Those aren't words you forget easily," he replies, but it's not smooth. He's usually a much better liar than this. The crushing pressure in her chest deepens, but instead it feels like she's rising; something's pushing her up and up and up.   
  
"I think you should finish it," she says, low, voice soft enough to be a whisper. But it's filling the air between them and she has a moment of clarity, the blazing kind, where she is pathetic and glorious and _alive_ , just from breathing alone. Just from the want. The hope.   
  
"Finish it," she urges, and her mind is finally clear. No more wrecking her head for all the hours that they had spent together, no more searching and analyzing and predicting. It's just his eyes and her eyes and he smiles, a bit too sadly.   
  
" _Please say yes_ _._ "   
  
She stands. "Right. So. Am I going to have to make the move?"   
  
"I have a feeling you're not waiting for an-"   
  
She kisses him, and he cups the back of her head, tilts. There is a heaven hidden in the sound of his name. Her tongue knows it well.   
  
It is their golden room, their silent night, their return to Florence. And it is something wholly brand new, something wholly _theirs_ , nothing like the words before them. 

And they write new stories.

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer : there's a reason why the title is called imagine. This is probably all a dream. :)


End file.
